Blogging for the Gray Wolf

Lets give US Rep. Raul Grijalva D-NM a hand. In a letter addressed to Dr. Benjamin Tuggle, Southwest Regional Director USFWS, Rep Grijalva took the USFWS to task for their handling of Mexican gray wolf recovery or lack thereof and the fate of the Fox Mountain wolf pack.

He pointed out removing the Fox Mountain alpha female from the wild was the wrong thing to do when there are no new releases of Mexican gray wolves planned. He raises concerns that by attempting to remove this wolf mother serious injury or death could befall her, her pups or other pack members.

In 2006 the Hon Dah Pack was decimated when USFWS intervened.

12-Wolf Pack Is Down to Two

Taking a breeding female from the wild, when there have been no new releases of Mexican gray wolves since 2008, is absurd. The Fox Mountain pack is just one of six breeding pairs living wild.

Mexican gray wolves are the most critically endangered land mammals in North America. Their present day genetics descend from just seven wolves who were saved from poisoning and death during the tragic gray wolf extermination of the 1900’s. The wolves are in-bred because of this.

Remember the Mexican gray wolf female who was shot when she bred with a dog. The poor little wolf probably couldn’t find another male wolf to mate with. Wolves are social animals, so she was seeking out the company of other canines. She lost her life because of it and her pups were also killed.

There are so few Mexican grays in the wild, last count just 58, that it’s a miracle they even find each other to breed. As with all wolves in the lower forty-eight and around the world they suffer from severe persecution, poaching and the heavy hand of state and federal controls.

Taking this mother from the wild is wrong!! Either remove the cattle from the wolf recovery area or recover these critically endangered wolves in a cow free zone, where they don’t face continual persecution over cattle. This is why after 14 years the wolf program has been a failure. It’s the same story repeating itself, wolves are either poached or get in trouble over cattle. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again, expecting a different result.

The North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park would be perfect for the wolves. No ranchers, no cows and lots of mule deer. Is that too sensible of a solution?? Of course people have been calling for this for years but sadly it’s fallen on deaf ears.

Wolf Will Live, But Maybe Not In Wild

LAS CRUCES – Conservationists were thrilled when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service last week rescinded a two-day-old order to kill a Mexican gray wolf blamed for killing four cattle in recent months, but they continue to press federal officials to let the wolf remain in the wild.

Michael Robinson of the Center for Biological Diversity said removing the Fox Mountain pack’s alpha female, the mother of at least four pups, is bad policy for a recovery project that has only 58 wolves in the wild in southeast Arizona and southwest New Mexico.

Fish and Wildlife’s acting regional director rescinded the kill order on Aug. 10 after the Southwest Wildlife Conservation Center in Scottsdale, Ariz., stepped forward and offered to house the alpha female for the rest of her life.

Service spokesman Tom Buckley said the agency would not change course and allow the wolf to remain in the wild, despite the ongoing public pressure.

Before the first release of wolves in a national forest in Arizona in 1998, federal officials projected there would be 100 wolves in the wild by the end of 2006. However, illegal shootings and strict management of cattle-killing wolves have slowed the population’s growth.

Removal, Robinson said, “will have the same results ecologically on the wolves that are remaining as if they killed her.”

The Fish and Wildlife Service’s regional office in Albuquerque was inundated by hundreds of phone calls and emails protesting the Aug. 8 kill order, the first such order issued by the Service in four years. Killing the wolf, advocates said, would decrease the wolf pups’ chances for survival.

Federal agents on Wednesday afternoon were continuing the efforts they started last week to capture the Fox Mountain alpha female.

I had tears in my eyes when I read this news. I volunteered for a local zoo. The Timber Wolves (Grey) have a wonderful habitat at this location. The Alpha Female would look at me with Her beautiful Golden eyes. One day, she lifted her head and started wolfsong. I was stunned. The entire Pack emerged. I joined in their Wolfsong. It was magical. It is so hard to explain. Kill one Member of the Pack, you disrupt a Family. It seems so simple. Why hurt such a Social Family?

PERTH WESTERN AUSTRALIA – thank GOD for Rep. Grijalva!!! Finally a man who has the guts & balls to give his voice to these amazingly beautiful gorgeous furry ones. It takes a real man to take a stand for a cause that may be thrown in his face at some stage.
GOD bless you Mr Grijalva you are a REAL & GOOD man!!!

THIS is what a Congressman or woman should do! Funny how few of them have the moral courage to address an issue like this or even the interest in what their own constituents care about. Representative Grijalva is A-1 in my book.

Thank you for speaking out and standing up for the wolves,Rep. Grijalva. I do wonder why it is so difficult for others in seats of power to do so!?Perhaps your voice will be heard and heeded.Thank you,again.

Why should we even think? The World is is symbiotic. I am here with my Rescue Kitty. It took me over a year to teach this Lovely One to balance, purr, play and to be a True Feline. We need to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY.

I just sent this to Nabeki regarding the 4 Fallen Wolves. I thought of you immediately. A Dear Friend sent this to me (from the USVI)

A Wolf Story

With all her big brothers and sisters off to school, our ranch became a lonely place for our three-year-old daughter, Becky. She longed for playmates. Cattle and horses were too big to cuddle and farm machinery dangerous for a child so small. We promised to buy her a puppy but in the meantime, “pretend” puppies popped up nearly every day. I had just finished washing the lunch dishes when the screen door slammed and Becky rushed in, cheeks blushed with excitement. “Mama!” she cried. “Come see my new doggy! I gave him water two times already. He’s so thirsty!”

“Can’t walk?” Now that was a twist. All her previous make- believe dogs could do marvelous things. One balanced a ball on the end of it’s nose. Another dug a hole that went all the way through the earth and fell out on a star on the other side. Still another danced on a tightrope. Why suddenly a dog that couldn’t walk? “All right, honey,” I said. By the time I tried to follow her, Becky had already disappeared into the mesquite. “Where are you?” I called.

“Over here by the oak stump. Hurry, Mama!”

I parted the thorny branches and raised my hand against the glare of the Arizona sun. A numbing chill gripped me. There she was sitting on her heels, toes dug firmly in the sand, and cradled in her lap was the unmistakable head of a wolf. Beyond it’s head rose massive black shoulders. The rest of the body lay completely hidden inside the hollow stump of a fallen oak.

Then the unbelievable happened. As her tiny hands stroked the great shabby head, I heard the gentle thump, thump, thump, thumping of the wolf’s tail from deep inside the stump.

What was wrong with the animal? I wondered. Why couldn’t he get up? I couldn’t tell. Nor did I dare to step any closer. I glanced at the empty water bowl. My memory flashed back to the five skunks that last week had torn the burlap from a leaking pipe in a frenzied effort to reach water during the final agonies of rabies. Of course! Rabies! Warning signs had been posted all over the county and hadn’t Becky said, ‘He’s so thirsty?’ I had to get Becky away. “Honey,” my throat tightened, “Put his head down and come to Mama. We’ll go find help.”

Reluctantly, Becky got up and kissed the wolf on the nose before she walked slowly into my outstretched arms. Sad yellow eyes followed her. Then the wolf’s head sank to the ground. With Becky safe in my arms, I ran to the barns where Brian, one of our cowhands, was saddling up to check heifers in the north pasture. “Brian! Come quickly! Becky found a wolf in the oak stump near the wash! I think it has rabies!”

“I’ll be there in a jiffy,” he said as I hurried back to the house, anxious to put Becky down for her nap. I didn’t want her to see Brain come out of the bunkhouse. I knew he’d have a gun.

“But I want to give my doggy his water,” she cried. I kissed her and gave her some stuffed animals to play with.

“Honey, let Mom and Brian take care of him for now,” I said. Moments later, I reached the oak stump. Brian stood looking down at the beast.

“It’s a Mexican lobo, all right,” he said, “and a big one!” The wolf whined. Then we both caught the smell of gangrene.

The word ‘yes’ was on my lips, when Becky emerged from the bushes. “Is Brain going to make him well, Mama?” She hauled the animal’s head onto her lap once more and buried her face in the coarse dark fur. This time I wasn’t the only one who heard the thumping of the lobo’s tail.

That afternoon my husband, Bill and our veterinarian came to see the wolf. Observing the trust the animal had in our child, Doc said to me, “Suppose you let Becky and me tend to this fella together.” Minutes later as child and vet reassured the stricken beast the hypodermic found it’s mark. The yellow eyes closed. “He’s asleep now,” said the vet. “Give me a hand here, Bill.”

They hauled the massive body out of the stump. The animal must have been over five foot long and well over one-hundred pounds. The hip and leg had been mutilated by bullets. Doc did what he had to in order to clean the wound and then gave the patient a dose of penicillin. Next day he returned and inserted a metal rod to replace the missing bone.

“Well, it looks like you’ve go yourself a Mexican lobo,” Doc said. “He looks to be about three years old and even as pups, they don’t tame real easy. I’m amazed at the way this big fella took to your little gal. But often there’s something that goes on between children and animals that we grownups don’t understand.”

Becky named the wolf, Ralph and carried food and water to the stump every day. Ralph’s recovery was not easy. For three months he dragged his injured hindquarters by clawing the earth with his front paws. From the way he lowered his eyelids when we massaged the atrophied limbs, we knew he endured excruciating pain, but not once did he ever try to bite the hands of those who cared for him.

Four months to the day, Ralph finally stood unaided. His huge frame shook as long-unused muscles were activated. Bill and I patted and praised him. But it was Becky to whom he turned for a gentle word, a kiss or a smile. He responded to these gestures of love by swinging his busy tail like a pendulum.

As his strength grew, Ralph followed Becky all over the ranch. Together they roamed the desert pastures, the golden- haired child often stooping low, sharing the great lame wolf whispered secrets of nature’s wonders. When evening came, he returned like a silent shadow to his hollow stump that had surely become his special place. As time went on, although he lived primarily in the brush, the habits of this timid creature endeared him more and more to all of us. His reaction to people other than our family was yet another story. Strangers terrified him, yet his affection for and protectiveness of Becky brought him out of the desert and fields at the sight of every unknown pickup or car. Occasionally he’d approach, lips taut, exposing a nervous smile full of chattering teeth. More often he’d simply pace and finally skulk off to his tree stump, perhaps to worry alone.

Becky’s first day of school was sad for Ralph. After the bus left, he refused to return to the yard. Instead, he lay by the side of the road and waited. When Becky returned, he limped and tottered in wild, joyous circles around her. This welcoming ritual persisted throughout her school years. Although Ralph seemed happy on the ranch, he disappeared into the surrounding deserts and mountains for several weeks during the spring mating season, leaving us to worry about his safety. This was calving season and fellow ranchers watched for coyotes, cougars, wild dogs and of course, the lone wolf. But Ralph was lucky.

During Ralph’s twelve years on our ranch, his habits remained unchanged. Always keeping his distance, he tolerated other pets and endured the activities of our busy family, but his love for Becky never wavered. Then the spring came when our neighbor told us he’s shot and killed a she-wolf and grazed her mate, who had been running with her. Sure enough, Ralph returned home with another bullet wound.

Becky, nearly fifteen years old now, sat with Ralph’s head resting on her lap. He, too, must have been about fifteen and was gray with age. As Bill removed the bullet, my memory raced back through the years. Once again I saw a chubby three-year-old girl stroking the head of a huge black wolf and heard a small voice murmuring, “It’s all right,boy. Don’t be afraid. That’s my mama and she loves you too.”

Although the wound wasn’t serious, this time Ralph didn’t get well. Precious pounds fell away. The once luxurious fur turned dull and dry and his trips to the yard in search of Becky’s companionship ceased. All day long he rested quietly. But when night fell, old and stiff as he was, he disappeared into the desert and surrounding hills. By dawn his food was gone. The morning came when we found him dead. The yellow eyes were closed. Stretched out in front of the oak stump, he appeared but a shadow of the proud beast he once had been. A lump in my throat choked as I watched Becky stroke his shaggy neck, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll miss him so,” she cried.

Then as I covered him with a blanket we were startled by a strange rustling sound from inside the stump. Becky looked inside. Two tiny yellow eyes peered back and puppy fangs glinted in the semi-darkness. Ralph’s pup! Had a dying instinct told him his motherless offspring would be safe here, as he had been, with those who loved him? Hot tears spilled on baby fur as Becky gathered the trembling bundle in her arms. “It’s all right, little…Ralphie,” she murmured. “Don’t be afraid. That’s my mom and she loves you, too.”

This blog is dedicated to the memory of Wolf 253, the beloved Yellowstone Druid wolf named Limpy, who was shot and killed in March 08, on the very day ESA protections were lifted for the gray wolf, by the then Bush Administration.